


The Devil (Catches Falling Stars)

by SLUG_CAT624



Series: Slug-Cat's Crossovers and Fandom Fusions [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A Bit Not Good, Anakin's Rash Actions, Attempt at prompt fill, Bodyswap, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hardeen AU, Hearing Voices, John is Not Amused, Major Character Injury, Obi-Wan Being an Idiot, Panic Attacks, Reichenbach AU, Sherlock Being an Idiot, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLUG_CAT624/pseuds/SLUG_CAT624
Summary: Yeah.  Sooooo... this is kind of a thing now?***The man nods.  “And what would you do, what lengths would you go, to keep him from dying.”“Anything.”The man tuts.  “And here I thought I was dealing with a Jedi.  Very well.”  He bends down to whisper in Anakin’s ear.  “The name’s Moriarty.  Thanks for the deal, sunshine.”  Suddenly he’s falling again.
Series: Slug-Cat's Crossovers and Fandom Fusions [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437628
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Stories of the Stars





	The Devil (Catches Falling Stars)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [I_Am_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Queen/pseuds/I_Am_Queen) in the [Stories_of_the_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Stories_of_the_Stars) collection. 



Anakin doesn’t think anymore. He just jumps, and lands where he lands. In war, in the thick of battle, you don’t have time to think, you just  _ do. _ He learned that on Tatooine, where pausing for an instant at the wrong place and time got you killed. He learned to jump into the Force, knowing he would be caught, always.

Time slows as the sniper swings around, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widen half a second before it happens. He’s master’s body shudders, violently, and he stumbles backward-

-Right over the roof’s edge. Anakin lets out a scream-

“ _ NOOOOO!” _ -and jumps. Suddenly, he’s movement slammed to a halt, the impact jarring he bones. He looks up, and impossibly, his master is suspended mid-air, head dipped back and spread eagle. Then Anakin look’s down… at the concrete several stories below. “What the-” Anakin spins around at the sound of a blaster being cocked.

It’s a light-skinned human male with short dark hair. He swings the blaster idly, a mad grin on his face, and acting like walking on  _ karking air _ is perfectly normal.

“Oh, aren’t you jumpy,” the man says, grinning, in an accent that’s not quite a Corusanti one. “Irish,” the man says, and Anakin stares. “Don’t ask what planet love,” he says, patting Anakin’s head. 

“ _ What do you want?” _ Anakin snarls. The man smiles.

“Oh, sugar, it’s what  _ you _ want.” The man walks over to the frozen form of Obi-Wan and peers at the blaster wound in his chest, whistling. Anakin clenches his fists.

“What do you mean?” he grits out. The man raises his eyes brows and gestures to Obi-Wan.

“You don’t want him to  _ die, _ do you, hun?” the man says, stroking Obi-Wan’s hair.

_ “DON’T TOUCH HIM!” _ Anakin snarls, and gose to draw his saber-

-and find’s he can’t move. The man stalks over.

“Now, let me ask again, Ani. Do you want him to die?” the man purrs. The answer comes out with a sob.

“ _ No.” _

The man nods. “And what would you do, what lengths would you go, to keep him from dying.”

“ _ Anything.” _

The man tuts. “And here I thought I was dealing with a Jedi. Very well.” He bends down to whisper in Anakin’s ear. “The name’s Moriarty. Thanks for the deal, sunshine.” Suddenly he’s falling again.

Falling.

_ Falling… _

()()()

_ Staying alive is just so  _ boring, _ isn’t it? It’s just… staying. _

_ I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second I am one. _

_ This is what people do, right? Leave notes… _

John Watson feels like he’s dying. He pushes through the crowd of bystanders-

“I’m a doctor, I’m his friend!” Suddenly there’s a cold voice in his ear.

“Prove it.” And time has stopped. Inexplicable, the rush of movement of London ceases. Flags freeze mid flutter, people are inexplicably frozen mid sentence, mid step-

He doesn't even realize his drawn his Sig until the barrel is pressed over where the heart should be of his staker. He’s tall, unusually so, with grey skin, a bald head and yellow eyes. Two blood red tattoos run down his face, and there’s something off with the strange black garment he wears. Something… otherworldly. He pulls the trigger. There’s no blood, and he can hear the bullet thud against the paved street behind the stranger. The man laughs.

“You can’t fight me soldier,” he says, and John Watson bares his teeth.

“What do you want?” John snarls.

“What would you do to save Sherlock Holmes?” John backs up a pace, glancing at his fallen friend. The blood flow seems to have frozen with everything else.

“I don’t make deals with the devil.” John says, and the man tutts.

“But Sherlock Holmes would to save you, John Watson. You know that.”

_ “Shut up!” _ The demon takes a step closer, and John fruitlessly draws his gun again. The man cocks his head, and his eyes flash an even brighter gold

“I’m afraid you no longer have any choice in the matter. The other one has made the deal, and his soul is of much more importance to me than yours.”

“Sherlock would never make a deal with you!” John spits, and the devil grins. 

“My sister would like you, John Watson. No, it wasn’t Sherlock- it was someone who walks in  _ my _ realm. Don’t worry, John Watson- the soul of Sherlock Holmes is perfectly safe.” Suddenly the world is flicked on again, the man is gone, and- impossibly- Sherlock Holmes breathes.

()()()

He feels his body slam into the concrete, head bouncing then lolling to one side. He’s instantly hit with a feeling of intense wrongness.

He’s already fallen. At least he thought he had. The surface beneath him does not match the concrete where he should have landed. The grain is too smooth and fine, too high end- it’s concrete certainly, but nothing any city funded project would line their street with. He realises he’s not in London.

There’s a puddle of blood beneath him, and his head is murky. Concussion. Suddenly there’s hands touching him, and he hisses in pain. It takes him an instant to realize they aren't the hands of John Watson or Greg or Molly or even  _ Mycroft _ , and when he does he’s on his feet instantly.

Bad idea. The world swirls around him, a mix of grey and browns.  _ A city. _ He can’t seem to get his eyes to focus on one thing for very long, but it’s long enough to confirm that he is  _ very _ far away from London. There’s a new set of hands now, the hands of a child, small and uncalloused. He wants to violently push them away, but John would say  _ that’s not good _ so he doesn't.

He realized he had closed his eyes. He opens them. It takes a moment to register the young face he sees- orange skin, some sort of cartilage formation where hair should be, and big blue eyes. There is rarely a time when Sherlock Holmes doesn't understand- he can count the number on one hand. But when he sees the unexplainable- he runs.

He doesn't even realize he’s running until he’s down a crowded sidestreet and bumps into a large alien that resembles a blue elephant.

He runs faster.

He can hear raised voices over the city nightlife, but nothing that their saying gestures, just the sound. He remembers why he hates Los Angeles- the constant pounding music and neon lights give him a headache, and this is ten times worse. But Sherlock Holmes knows how to hide, and he settles gasping into an enclave created by two stout metal pillars and watches as his pursuers, a human being and the orange alien girl- sprint past his hiding spot. Sherlock also knows where to find drugs when he needs to, no matter the city, and soon he is high as a kite on green powder he bought off an alien with money he picked off a drunk humanoid.

()()()

The first thing he does is reach out into the Force, before he even opens his eyes. Something is wrong, something's wrong, what is it, what is it,  _ what it it- _

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now, brother dear.” a voice says, and he opens his eyes to see a man in a three piece suit...  _ I’ve never seen that fabric before. It doesn't look like Nabooian silk… he’s shields- I’ve never seen a Force null with shields like that... _

The same man snaps his fingers in front of Obi-Wan’s face. “I know this is quite a shock,” the man says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But you're alive. And have a criminal network to dismantle.”

_ Criminal network? ...Right, Hardeen.  _ He goes to lift his head and is met with a sharp pain. He must have winced, because a fragment of warmth entered the man’s eyes. 

“I’ll send Athena up with your coat. The fall didn’t go quite as smoothly as planned, but unfortunately, time is of the essence-”

“My coat?” he manages to get out, puzzled. The man stops talking, and his eyes narrow. Obi-Wan reaches down, looking for his ‘saber’s comforting touch-

It’s gone. He reaches out immediately, searching for it’s song in the Force, calling out. He realizes why when he woke up it felt so  _ wrong. _ He can’t sense his cyber crystal. Something akin to panic starts to bubble up inside him, and he reaches for his bond with Anakin-

-That’s gone too. Breath coming in gasps now he reaches out for Ashoka, Mace, Yoda-

All gone. Like they never existed. He realizes he’s wearing a suit too. He’s never worn a suit in his life-

“You aren't my brother.” The man’s gaze fills with suspicion, and he points a blaster at him. Despite everything, Obi-Wan tries not to roll his eyes.

“No, need… for that,” he coughs, voice raspy. “I’m not sure who you were expecting, but I’m no one’s brother.” The man’s gaze hardens.

“You wear his face.” He glances down at one of Obi-Wan’s arms, sleeve rolled up for an IV. “And his scars.”

It’s true. Inexplicably, his arms are covered in pockmarks from numerous injections. Illegal substance abuse, Obi-Wan suspects. He blinks, remembering this is his own body…

“Very strange,” he mummers softly, and shifts his head only to find a jet black ringlet of hair come into his field of view. He looks at his hands again, their calloused, but in all the wrong places. He doesn't have the scar on his wrist from his many crash landings with Anakin. A shard of metal has sliced open a major artery, he remembers how furious Bant was-

He doesn't even realize his panicking until he hears  _ her  _ voice.  _ Undesii, cyar. _

“You're not here.” He’s ignoring the other man now, staring at hands that aren't his and listening to phantoms.

_ Not quite true. This is, after all, real to you? _

“Yes.”

_ Then I am there. I always will be. _

“Through the Force?” She laughs.

_ No, Obi’ika. It’s simpler than that. Though yourself. _

By the time his heart rate has slowed and he’s come out of the trance he’s slipped into, he’s slightly surprised to find a potted plant hovering a few inches above its place. He can feel it’s slight confusion, and he sets it back down, apologizing softly. He turns to the man, who looks pale.  _ Mycroft Holmes, _ the force whispers in his ear, and he nods, thanking it.

“I apologize, I was quite  _ out of sorts,  _ I suppose. You mentioned a criminal network, Mr. Holmes?”


End file.
